It was a beautiful day for a funeral.
Awkward hands in pockets converse and leave their hideaways to meet briefly and shake. We all gathered around the hole where two servicemen stood at ease.
Five siblings sat hip to hip in inadequate chairs. One of five stood up and sang strings of pretty prose. She spoke of her father, the deceased. She spoke of his selfless sacrifice to his children. Her words rocketed me into reverie; A premonition of the future.
I was her, speaking of my own dad, another of the siblings. All the words she spoke emanated my own view of my father, working countless hours just to make ends meet. All I could see was myself in her, feeling every emotion that slipped passed her lips.
My eyes stung.
The remaining four siblings were solemn down the line. Once the service ended, the wind began to whip and I thought maybe it was his spirit escaping finally from its bodily confines.
Another of the five siblings handed out white roses—the sign of acceptance. She gave them to the children and grandchildren to place on the casket. I knew when I saw my Dad’s turn get close that I wanted to place mine right after his. So I did. My dad placed his rose, and held his hand against the polished wood for a breath’s length. I followed.
Later in the day we went for a walk in the forest to spread half the ashes of the siblings’ mother, who died some years previous. There were thorns aplenty and the branches reached for pieces of my dreadlocks and clothing. We walked along abandoned train tracks consumed by undergrowth.
I saw a small branch that had twisted itself intricately and perfectly around another branch. I had only seen something like it in photographs. Its intricacy reminded me of love.
My cousin found an antler on the ground. It had five prongs. She told of how her deceased boyfriend would've been proud.
At the pine grove is where we spread the ashes. Five siblings had become four, but we spread the gray dust anyway.
“I love you, Mom.” The White Rose sibling whispered.
My father spread the last of the particles, and we left.
Awkward hands in pockets converse and leave their hideaways to meet briefly and shake. We all gathered around the hole where two servicemen stood at ease.
Five siblings sat hip to hip in inadequate chairs. One of five stood up and sang strings of pretty prose. She spoke of her father, the deceased. She spoke of his selfless sacrifice to his children. Her words rocketed me into reverie; A premonition of the future.
I was her, speaking of my own dad, another of the siblings. All the words she spoke emanated my own view of my father, working countless hours just to make ends meet. All I could see was myself in her, feeling every emotion that slipped passed her lips.
My eyes stung.
The remaining four siblings were solemn down the line. Once the service ended, the wind began to whip and I thought maybe it was his spirit escaping finally from its bodily confines.
Another of the five siblings handed out white roses—the sign of acceptance. She gave them to the children and grandchildren to place on the casket. I knew when I saw my Dad’s turn get close that I wanted to place mine right after his. So I did. My dad placed his rose, and held his hand against the polished wood for a breath’s length. I followed.
Later in the day we went for a walk in the forest to spread half the ashes of the siblings’ mother, who died some years previous. There were thorns aplenty and the branches reached for pieces of my dreadlocks and clothing. We walked along abandoned train tracks consumed by undergrowth.
I saw a small branch that had twisted itself intricately and perfectly around another branch. I had only seen something like it in photographs. Its intricacy reminded me of love.
My cousin found an antler on the ground. It had five prongs. She told of how her deceased boyfriend would've been proud.
At the pine grove is where we spread the ashes. Five siblings had become four, but we spread the gray dust anyway.
“I love you, Mom.” The White Rose sibling whispered.
My father spread the last of the particles, and we left.
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